Transcending the Darkness
by Mango Schmango
Summary: C/B AU. NY 1920. In a world of avarice, death and ruthlessness, can a love that transcends social boundaries and strictures eventuate? In a world where happiness is fleeting, can a man find redemption in love?
1. Chapter 1

**I: Darkness**

_New York, 1920_

The world was a dark place after 1918. The Great War sucked up its golden youth, gutting, gassing and disemboweling them before spewing them out in great stinking mounds along Ypres, Passchendaele, Sommes, and Pozières.

The United States soared to the top of the international stage in the wake of the war as crippled Great Britain, once a superpower, limped into the wings and attempted to place bandages on its festering national sores.

While the funeral pyre heightened, while grief, sorrow and anger gripped everyone in an iron fist, Bass Industries feasted upon the world's misery and benefited from the United States' rise in power. Their purses became engorged while more death notices filled the papers, and more bodies filled coffins or mass graves.

Unlike other businesses that sank after the War, Bass Industries was comfortably cushioned. They were like a reincarnation of the titan Cronus who ate all his children in the hope of preventing a usurpation of his throne, because one by one, Bass Industries took over weak corporations who offered no effective defense.

Bass Industries was merciless.

The dread king of the Upper East skyline, fifty-one year old Bartholomew Bass, and his Lucifer son, twenty-six year old Charles, lived protected from hardship in the penthouse of their new hotel, Melusine. Bartholomew and Charles were the unholy duumvirate that the Upper East Siders loathed and feared.

Indeed, Machiavelli would have been proud.

Three attempts had been made on Bart's life: firstly, a disgruntled cook tried to lace Bart's customary brandy with arsenic but Bart's brother Jack was killed instead; secondly, someone attempted to strap a poorly constructed bomb under Bart's customary Mercedes, but was blown up in the process. The third time was when a former executive of a company Bart had merged who was driven mad by the death of his son in the war and mounting debts, shot Bart. Bart seemed so close to death until his son swept into the hospital like a violent tempest, gripped his father's hand tightly, and vowed retribution if the doctors did not do everything possible to save his father. Amazingly, Bart clung to life with an unearthly tenacity, and Chuck never left his side. Medical staff were awed and whispered that the Basses must be construed of some sort of unnatural mettle, or were in league with the Devil.

Most voted for the latter.

Death always nipped at the heels of the Bass men, and lurked in the dark recesses of their lives. Evelyn Bass, who people whispered was the light angel that briefly held Bart away from a path of avarice and unbridled ruthlessness, died after a horrific childbirth.

Witnesses of the birth still could not forget the blood-sodden sheets, nor Evelyn's tortured screams and writhing body. They could not erase the memory of Bart bursting into the birthing room and holding his dying, whimpering wife; frantically kissing and caressing her as her head lolled from side to side, barely conscious as blood seeped through her filthy gown and onto his clothes. Bart did not seem to care about the blood and feces that stained the sheets. People said it was the one time he appeared as if he were a primal animal—without any hint of his customary rigid self-control—that was signaling the passing of his dying mate.

Chuck lay forgotten in the cradle.

Twenty-four years later, the roaming scythe of Death again stalked Bass Industries. Chuck's wife, Penelope, lay dying of a ravenous cancer. She only had a few months left at the most. The servants and various other retainers of Bass Industries shamefully breathed sighs of relief, for Penelope Devereux had been an unstable, mercurial woman who had been literally sold by her father to the Basses in return for being left as CEO of Devereux Investments instead of falling prey to the insatiable lust for domination that gripped the Bass father and son.

Servants whispered behind their hands and took bets as to which woman was now warming Chuck's bed. It was a well-known fact that Chuck had a roving eye and his frequent liaisons exacerbated the suspicions and paranoia that wrought havoc upon Penelope's fragmented and tortured mind.

The only bright light in the grim Bass dominion that momentarily dispersed all shadows was Chuck and Penelope's five year-old daughter Ruby. She was a gurgling, bubbly toddler that was the only one who could briefly breach the almost inhuman emotionless façade of Bart and bring a small smile to the flint face of Chuck.

Ruby was now in need of a governess, since she had just about out-grown her nursemaid. This was how twenty-four year old Blair Waldorf found herself as a governess to Ruby Bass in an eerily quiet penthouse that was occasionally punctuated by the agonizing cries of Penelope or the crash of something she had thrown.

She had not yet met Ruby's father, who had been in Boston negotiating another deal on behalf of his father. It was only Bart who she briefly conversed with upon her employment, and after that, it was only Penelope's nurse, Vanessa Abrams, and the butler, Daniel Humphrey, that she was in regular contact with.

It was now just after nine o'clock at night and Blair had finished putting Ruby down to sleep. The penthouse was Spartan sparse. The lounge in which Blair stood was like a mausoleum. The only personal touch was a massive oil painting of a beautiful woman in a lavender gown and striking mocha eyes that Blair assumed was Bart's dead wife. The fireplace had long ago cooled and Blair shivered, pulling her wrap tightly around her shoulders.

"It's a frightful place, isn't it?" came a low sardonic voice that sounded as if it was affected by alcohol.

Blair's head shot around and saw Bart's son shrouded in darkness by the drawn window. Only a sliver of light from the crack in the heavy velvet curtains drew light on his features.

"Mr. Bass," she curtly greeted him, feeling a prickling sensation in her skin.

"Mr. Bass," he mocked her voice, stepping out of the shadows and into the dim light of the candelabra on the mantelpiece. "You're my daughter's new governess, correct?"

"A good guess," she replied, acid lacing her voice.

She could see his smirk and it made her want to slap him.

"I gather you don't like me much?" he drawled, appearing unbothered by the fact.

Blair drew herself up. "I don't know you enough, sir, to draw a well-rounded opinion."

"But you've heard all the dastardly things about me, surely?"

"I don't give much credence to rumours."

"What if they're not rumours?"

Blair narrowed her eyes at him. "I'm not a child who can be frightened by weak tales of evil doings."

He laughed—a jarring, humourless one, that sent chills up her spine. His face was made of sharp contours and his intense dark eyes were like hot coals. His smirk became even more pronounced. "So I do not frighten you?"

"No."

"Then I'll tell you a secret, Miss Waldorf."

"And what would that be?"

He stepped closer to her until he was a mere arm length away from her. "You are a brave woman, Miss Waldorf, for becoming a Bass employee."

Blair raised her chin. "And why is that?"

He moved within a hairbreadth of her, his warm breath laden with Scotch stirring a loose strand of hair in her face. "Because this place will suck the lifeblood out of you. When you leave this establishment—if you leave—you will be a mere wraith and none of your loved ones will recognise you. Indeed, my mother forsook her family to marry my father against their wishes and she died in this very place in agony giving birth to me."

His speech was slurred and Blair stepped back from him. "You've been drinking. I would advise you to say nothing further that you might regret."

He let out a harsh bark of laughter. "Alright then, my prim little governess. You scurry along to your pristine white bed and dream of fluffy white clouds and sugary sweets. But I warn you—you will lose your innocence here. Get out while you can."

Blair set her mouth into a thin line. "Goodnight, Mr. Bass," she said tightly, and then she turned on her heel and left a clearly drunk Chuck staring at the portrait of his dead mother.

**The End of Chapter One. Please let me know what you thought as it would be most appreciated! **


	2. Chapter 2

**II: Bartering **

**Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Gossip Girl. I'm just showing my appreciation for it in a non-profit way. **

Strange dreams gripped Blair that night of her sitting resplendent on a dark throne as faceless shadows—her supplicants—floated around and awaiting her commands. A low Gregorian-like chant resounded around the room and Blair felt her dream-self revel in the sheer power that pulsated through her. Then, a tall, commanding figure came through the shadows that dream Blair immediately recognised.

_Chuck Bass_.

She arose from her throne and slowly moved towards him as if she was wading across water on a moonless night. He held out his hand, breathing her name like a dark caress as she wordlessly placed her pale hand in his. Their eyes bore into each other while the shadows evaporated around them as if the heat radiating from the pair was almost unbearable to their hollow shades.

And that was the first of the many dreams about shadows and Chuck that would assail Blair.

* * *

The following afternoon after a successful morning of teaching Ruby basic letters, Blair took her lunch into the small, private balcony of her room that overlooked the busy, milling streets of the Upper East Side. She slowly munched on the soft white bread as she listened to cacophony of sounds from the streets below. The only vegetation on her balcony was a drooping plant and a long-dead lavender bush in a crumbling terracotta pot.

"Blair?"

Blair inwardly rolled her eyes and turned to face Penelope's nurse, Vanessa, whilst simultaneously wondering why Vanessa intruded upon the only private space Blair harboured. Vanessa was a pious woman who constantly urged Blair to read the Bible with her in the evenings. Her inky black hair was pulled back into a severe braid and she was dressed in sensible black lace-up shoes and a highly starched navy blue nursing dress.

"Yes?"

"Mrs. Bass requests your presence."

Blair immediately placed her sandwich down. Mrs. Penelope Bass was not a woman to accept tardiness and the last thing Blair wanted was for Penelope to be thrown into hysterics.

"Why would she want to see me?" Blair asked as she followed Vanessa down the silent, sterile cream corridor.

"She did not divulge her reasons to me. Maybe it is to chart the progress of her daughter?"

Blair thought it was highly unlikely since Penelope had never displayed any maternal solicitude towards Ruby, and had been more interested in downing a bottle of red wine.

Just before Vanessa opened the door to Penelope's room, she murmured in an undertone to Blair: "Make sure you don't utter anything that could agitate her. She has been in a restless and unstable mood all morning ever since her husband left at first light without any notice or farewell to her."

Blair kept her face deliberately blank at the mention of Penelope's husband. She was surprised he was even able to arise at the arrival of dawn considering the amount of liquor he had consumed if the stench of his breath was anything to go by last night.

"Mrs Bass, here is Miss Waldorf as you requested," chirped Vanessa, fluffing up Penelope's pillows.

Penelope grunted and gestured for Vanessa to leave them alone. Blair could not help but notice Penelope's gaunt features and hollow eyes. Though Penelope was being ravaged by cancer, it was obvious that she had not lost any of her vanity, for she was gowned in a pale pink chiffon nightgown, her corn blonde hair was curled into tight ringlets and her face had been thickly applied with make-up. She appeared like a grotesque mocking of a queen in the last throes of life.

Penelope's kohl lined eyes narrowed at Blair and such poison gathered in her face that if Blair had been made of lesser mettle, she would have stepped back in shock. "_You_," she spat.

"It is I, madam," coolly responded Blair.

"_You slut_."

Blair fought down her temper. "There is no need to sully my honour, madam. I am no common whore—I am your daughter's governess."

"You're a common whore, a slut! I know what you and my husband have been doing—I know he has sought your bed and you have plied him with French tricks!"

"I have done nothing of the sort. I have barely made the acquaintance of your husband."

"Don't lie to me, you bare-faced harlot!" she screeched, managing to pull herself upright. "I know why my husband hired you!"

"You are mistaken—I'm not sure who is feeding you this false info—"

"How dare you assert that I am lying, you—you—"

Blair barely had enough time to duck before Penelope threw a vase at Blair with surprising strength. At the crash of the vase, the door swung open and Vanessa barreled in. Penelope was sobbing and screaming out profanities, her hands thrashing out as Vanessa attempted to subdue her.

"Get out!" Vanessa ordered Blair, her eyes clearly displaying that she blamed Blair for Penelope's outburst.

Blair did not need to be told twice.

Penelope's tortured shrieks and Vanessa's vain placations still echoed in Blair's ears as she hurried away with her heart pounding in shock.

* * *

Blair thought it best if Ruby was taken away from the oppressive atmosphere of her house, so they spent the remainder of the afternoon at a small park four blocks away.

Blair sat on the bench and watched little Ruby, who inherited her father's sharp features and her mother's blond hair, chase pigeons with gleeful abandon, seemingly untouched by her father's demons or her mother's madness. To Blair, Ruby was the little flower that grew amid the strangling weeds of the Bass household.

But Blair pondered how long Ruby could remain unstained by the darkness and hollowness of her parents and grandfather that seeped into every crevice of their surroundings.

Only capricious time would tell.

* * *

That night, Blair was drawn to the closed restaurant of the hotel where a grand piano lay. Bart Bass had given her clearance after Blair had told him she would also be able to teach Ruby to become proficient in the piano. It was her nightly ritual to sit at the sleek instrument and let her fingers run up and down the keys, playing any melody that suited her mood. It was her release from the exertions of the day and brought back memories of her beloved father, Harold, teaching her.

Her father.

The man who died when Blair was only twelve with scurrilous rumours swirling about of him indulging in nocturnal activities with the stable boy, and leaving her mother, Eleanor, destitute from his debts. Eleanor had died two years ago after succumbing to drink and being worn out by the beatings of her drunkard second husband, Cyrus Rose.

Indeed, becoming a governess was Blair's mode of escape from Cyrus and the suffocating life of poverty and abuse in Brooklyn.

As she came to the conclusion of a little melancholy piece she had composed herself, she heard someone clap three times.

"Who's there?" she called out to the shadowy room that was only lit by the small lamp on the piano. Her skin prickled with tension.

The flicker of a cigarette lighter briefly signaled to Blair where her unwelcome nighttime visitor was situated—by the bar that was behind her in the far corner of the spacious restaurant.

It left her in no doubt as to whom the wraith was.

"I never knew you could play the piano," Chuck drawled as he lit his cigarette that momentarily engulfed his face in a dark orange glow and made him seem as if he was tipping on the edge of a hellish inferno.

"Are you accustomed to watching people in the darkness, Mr. Bass?"

"I thought you were far more pleasing to watch than the bottles of fine Scotch whisky lined neatly on the shelf."

Blair stiffened as she felt his hand lightly brush across the bare nape of her neck. "Such an elegant figure wasted in this gilded cage," he whispered.

Blair made a move to rise and depart from the room, but his body was positioned right behind her, thus making it impossible for her to move without creating an unwelcome scene.

He lowly chuckled, making Blair tense up even more. "Do not fear me, Miss Waldorf," he breathed, his hand once again straying to her neck and twirling lazy circles on her nape. "Contrary to the ugly rumours of me, I do not make it a habit to violently take resisting women. I prefer it when they are warm and pliant."

Humiliatingly, Blair could not find her voice.

His fingers drifted from her neck to her shoulders. "I heard that my dear wife attacked you this afternoon?"

"It was nothing that I could not handle. I know she is unwell," Blair managed to choke out.

"Yes." His voice was dark. "Yes. But all the same, I am sorry on her behalf."

"Don't be. I don't need your apologies," Blair bit back.

His hands paused at the nape of her neck and Blair realised how vulnerable she was. Did she push him too far?

He sounded amused. "You are a tigress beneath this prim veneer of yours."

"I'm no wilting lily," she retorted, attempting to regain some power.

His hands re-commenced their exploration of her neck. Blair could feel her heart thudding erratically and her cheeks flushed. She had never been so vulnerable and humiliated.

"I have an offer, Miss Waldorf."

"And what would that be?"

"You can play the piano, and while you do, you allow me to watch you. In return, I'll give you extra money that will accelerate your path out of here and allow you to find yourself a decent situation for yourself."

"Do you think I am some sort of whore like your wife described?"

He trailed a finger from the tip of her neck to the base of spine, causing Blair to involuntarily shiver. She could hear the smirk in his voice as he said, "I mean to _watch_, Miss Waldorf—though if I stray occasionally and caress this magnificent neck of yours, or your arms that are hidden underneath these long sleeves of yours, you will have to endure it."

"No."

"I think you should consider, Miss Waldorf. I would hate to have to let you go on the account of my wife's delicate nerves and send you back to that delightful stepfather of yours."

"You wouldn't."

"I would. I've been doing some research on you, Miss Waldorf, and I know what kind of drunken brute your stepfather is. I know that you long to raise yourself out of that God-forsaken rut you were born into."

Rage coursed through her that she nearly trembled with it. "_How dare you_."

"I dare, because I'm a Bass, and I have no iron moral compass."

"Damn you," she said in a quiet voice that pulsed with loathing.

"I already know I am damned, Miss Waldorf. If I'm going to Hell, I'm making sure that I am going to revel in my mortal life."

He then bent his head so his mouth was by her ear. "You pretend that you are so virtuous, but I can see that you are ambitious. Do this little deal with me and I promise that I will ensure you marry well and have a better fortune than what you have now. Your stepfather and Brooklyn will be a mere unpleasant memory that can be shelved away and never taken down again."

Blair knew she had no choice if she wanted to advance in life. "Fine. I agree."

"Good. I knew you'd see reason."

He released his hands from her. Blair immediately stood up.

"Good night, Miss Waldorf," he said formally, his eyes gleaming with an unholy light.

"Good night, Mr. Bass," she stiffly replied, and turned to leave.

"Our agreement begins tomorrow night," he called after her.

Blair did not respond.


	3. Chapter 3

**III. Domination **

Nausea gripped Blair and she feared that she would hurl up any moment. The thought of what she had agreed to do tonight was enough to make her gut painfully clench.

What had she agreed to? Why was the thought of a prestigious marriage, fine clothes and social power enough to compel her to make a deal with a man who had about as much moral integrity as a violent whoremonger on the meanest street of Brooklyn?

Blair shivered even though it was a balmy morning and the sun had cast the small balcony adjoining Ruby's room in a warm haze.

"Are you well, Miss Waldorf?" asked Ruby, her innocent eyes filled with concern.

Blair managed to dredge up a smile and ruffled Ruby's hair. "Nothing, Ruby. I'm just a little weary."

Ruby hugged her and Blair stiffened momentarily at Ruby's impulsive display of affection. She felt pathetic at the unseemly rush of emotion that went through her at someone loving her without any ulterior motive.

_Christ, woman!_ Blair told herself, _pull yourself together! You're not some weakling that can be undone by a little girl! _

"I hope I'm not intruding upon this tender scene?" came a familiar sardonic drawl.

Ruby immediately pulled away from Blair and nearly toppled Chuck by throwing her arms around his middle, standing on the tips of her toes. Chuck was obviously disconcerted by his daughter's enthusiastic reaction to his presence. He merely patted Ruby's head and disentangled himself from her by giving her a new doll to which she squealed in delight and immediately abandoned her father to play with her newest acquisition.

"I hope that you are actually filling my daughter's head with some useful knowledge so she will be more than a vacuous ornament?" he asked Blair.

Blair pursed her lips. "As much as a five year old girl can absorb. I was not aware she was a child intellectual prodigy."

Chuck's eyes gleamed. "Very witty, Miss Waldorf."

"Papa this doll is so beautiful. When I grow up I hope I will be as beautiful!" Ruby exclaimed.

"I'm sure you will, my little princess. You will be like a doll that men will all gaze at wonder and then when they realise you have no more substance than a sweet, you will be left to gather dust on a shelf and rot away," Chuck said acidly, his eyes harsh.

Ruby—blessedly oblivious to her father's barb—giggled. "You're funny, daddy!" and turned back to her doll.

Chuck's face was harsh as he turned to Blair and said in a low voice: "Look at her. She will turn out to be exactly like her mother—all beauty and simpering nothingness underneath."

"You are harsh, Mr. Bass," she reproached him. "She's but a child of five."

"And you think you can turn her around into a paragon of womanly virtue, do you?"

Blair lifted her chin. "I'm not promising I will turn her into a Florence Nightingale."

"Good. I don't want my daughter being transformed into a self-righteous, prudish prig."

"You don't have high standards, do you, sir?" Blair murmured.

His eyes narrowed. "If you have lived the life I have endured, Miss Waldorf, then you will understand why—despite all reasonable logic—I hope that my daughter will somehow escape the curse that is attached to the Bass name."

"You're a contradictory man, sir. You firstly claim that you have no hope for your daughter as you've already marked her off as a simpering fool, yet now you contend you harbour high hopes for her future? I won't be chastised for your quixotic opinions."

Chuck stood so close to her that she could smell his cologne and just a hint of cigar smoke. "Have a care, Miss Waldorf. You still want that fairytale ending, don't you?"

Blair refused to cower. She stared him down.

Something resembling twisted admiration flittered across his eyes—so quickly that Blair thought she had imagined it—and was replaced with a leer. "Remember our appointment tonight, Miss Waldorf."

"I will hardly forget."

He smiled lazily. "I'm glad you keep time well. Until tonight."

He bowed mockingly to her, gave his daughter a curt peck on her head and then sauntered away.

Blair almost forgot to breathe.

She was not sure whether she was angry and humiliated or perversely awed by his blatant disregard for propriety and morality in the pursuit of his own desires and objectives.

* * *

That night at eleven pm exactly, Blair met Chuck at the entrance to the hotel's restaurant _Lysander_. His eyes burned like dark coals but he did not say anything, nor did she. He gestured for her to sit at the piano while he—with the lazy elegance of a lethal, leonine cat—made for the bar to pour himself a strong Scotch.

She sat at the hotel's piano and for some reason the melancholy, almost haunting melody that she first composed last night flew from her fingertips. She closed her eyes, steeling herself for the upcoming ordeal. When she thought of lavish rooms and clothes that could all become her own, she calmed. The melody enveloped her into a cocoon and she felt like Boadicea. She would not give Chuck the satisfaction of seeing her quiver or quail before him.

She would prefer to die first.

Oddly, he did not touch her. He just leaned against the piano's hood, drinking, his gaze fixated on her. Even with her eyes fluttering shut as she became swept up in the new melody flowing from her fingers, she could sense his stare. Yet, she felt power from the piano keys impart to her figure so that she sat ramrod straight—not a limb or eye twitched in nerves.

Her eyes still closed, she heard the soft clink of Chuck's glass tumbler being placed down and the rustle of his dinner jacket as he moved over to her.

Her heart thudded erratically against her chest.

Her fingers sped up on the keys, the melody now more aggressive and pulsing.

His hand grazed the back of her neck. "Play the first piece again," he murmured. "I prefer that to this one."

"What if I don't want to?" she lowly replied, her eyes opening.

"Do you want the fine house, handsome husband and more money than you will be able to dispose of?"

Blair swallowed her sense of degradation and switched back to the first piece again while silently loathing his position of power.

His fingers splayed over her collarbone and Blair's heart nearly popped through her skin. She could practically hear his smirk as deep heat rushed up her neck to her face.

"I can practically feel your heart thudding through this milk white skin of yours," he breathed. "Do you fear me?"

"No, Mr. Bass."

"You lie."

Blair's heart spluttered as his fingers briefly strayed across the swell of her breasts.

"Well then you must lust after me. Fear or lust, Miss Waldorf—it can't be both."

"I am filled with repulsion," she gasped out, her fingers still playing the melody he desired. "Repulsion with myself and for you."

"Repulsion is hardly new. I tend to inspire that in people."

His hands now lightly traced up and down her forearms, leaving her skin tingly. "It is hardly something to be proud of."

"Yet here you are allowing me to touch you—not out of any sense of love—but just because you desire riches and social standing. You're a mercenary little bitch under that prude governess façade of yours."

"And you're an amoral, twisted shade of a man that somehow was spewed out from the sewers of Hell onto the Upper East Side," she spat.

His left hand curled around her throat, jerking her head up so she could see his eyes. Fear stabbed her. Did she push him too far?

Instead a low laugh rumbled from his throat. It was not a hearty laugh but one that was sardonic. He rubbed his prickly, unshaven chin against her neck compelling Blair to involuntarily gasp at the sensation. "You're one of the few of have escaped unscathed from insulting me. You're lucky that I've developed a rather thick skin."

Blair was confused at his reaction. She had stopped playing when he had jerked her head up and was now erratically breathing because of her neck's awkward position. She found herself staring back up at him with a mixture of disgust and something else that she could not—or would not—define, and was unable to look away. He unwaveringly looked back at her.

For some moments they stayed like this.

Suddenly, Chuck released her, his face barren and devoid of any intensity. "Go, Miss Waldorf. I've no need of you now. You can go back to your cozy little bed."

Swirling with a mixture of shame and loathing—at him and herself—Blair could not register his command.

"For Christ's sakes, Miss Waldorf! Are you a dimwit? Leave me alone now!"

Blair managed to stand up and made for the door without looking back at him.

* * *

The next morning, Blair dreaded coming into contact with Chuck, but was surprised to hear from Vanessa that he had left again at first light to join his father in Boston and would not be back for a week.

That week passed too quickly for Blair's liking and her heart sped up when Dan informed her that Chuck was holding a lunch for a select few intimates: Mr. Nathaniel Archibald and Miss Serena Van der Woodsen. He also had an express order that all the household staff were to wait in attendance.

"He also requested that you bring Ruby to the luncheon," said Dan.

"Right. Thanks Mr. Humphrey," and Blair tersely waved him off, not wanting any company.

* * *

Dressed in her best yellow sundress that flared at the waist with a white sash, Blair felt confident enough to handle whatever was to occur at the luncheon. She made sure Ruby was down in the lounge fifteen minutes early and gave her a small cupcake as a bribe to be quiet and obedient.

At five past twelve, Blair heard the light murmur of voices and padding of feet. She double-checked that Ruby's attire was not wrinkled and that her hair was neat and reminded Ruby of her manners before the lounge door opened and Chuck walked in first.

His mouth curled into a smirk. "Miss Waldorf."

She glacially inclined her head. "Mr. Bass."

A giggling blonde in a stunning pale pink dress and diamond jewelry crossed over the threshold behind Chuck. "Oh Chuck, this house is so drab! You have to brighten this place up—it's like a tomb!"

"My dear Serena, perhaps I should enlist you to make this house liveable again? What would be the price?"

Serena gave him a coy look causing Chuck to smile broadly—the first time Blair had seen him do so without malice or mockery.

"Are you propositioning an unchaperoned woman?" jovially asked the strikingly handsome man with champagne coloured hair and hazel eyes.

"Nathaniel, we all know our Miss Van der Woodsen is a paragon of innocence," said Chuck, his face studiously neutral.

The triumvir was silent for a moment and then Nate and Serena collapsed into sniggers while Chuck's expression was one of leering amusement.

Blair was surprised that Serena was not affronted by the men's behaviour. Instead, she actively encouraged it and Blair sensed that Serena had been rather free with both men, judging from the knowing glances between the three. Neither visitor paid Blair any attention and seemed to be engaged in ribaldry until Chuck interrupted the revelry by saying: "By the way, this is my new governess, Miss Blair Waldorf, and my daughter Ruby."

Serena merely nodded at Blair and immediately scooped Ruby up into her arms, cooing over Ruby, who seemed delighted by having such a carefree and attractive woman like Serena showering her with attention.

Nate, meanwhile, appeared to be momentarily startled by Blair's presence. He shook her hand in greeting and smiled softly at her. "I am sorry for my momentary lapse in speech. I'm just surprised at how someone as graceful and beautiful as you can possibly be a governess."

Blair smiled. "Thank-you, sir. You're too kind."

Nate laughed. "Don't call me 'sir'—call me Nate. I'm not a sixty-year old crusty man."

Blair found herself immediately warming to this man. She did not think her smile could be any wider. "I'll try to remember…Nate."

His expression was soft and he seemed to be genuinely interested in her, and made her feel secure. He enquired about her governess work and her interests without appearing bored. Blair found herself discussing her love of literature—Nate freely admitting he had little time for reading and preferred vigorous exercise—and of her love of music.

"Miss Waldorf is quite the musician, Nate. She will beguile you with her playing," cut in Chuck, sending her a quick mocking look that Nate missed.

"I look forward to hearing you play, Blair. You're lucky, Chuck. She will be able to teach Ruby how to play."

Chuck's gaze was on her. "I am lucky to have such an accomplished pianist as a governess, Nate," he drawled and Blair did not miss the heavy irony in his tone.

Blair flushed, remembering Chuck touching her neck and arms as she played at Lysander. Nate, mistaking her heated face for humility at having praise heaped on her, said, 'Let's not embarrass Blair any further. She seems to have great humility and I like that in a woman."

"You're right, Nate. Humility is a rare gift and Miss Waldorf is nothing if not a humble person."

Blair wanted to slap him.

Chuck made a show of checking his watch. "Ah, it seems that Miss Waldorf must leave us and tend to her charge."

"It was lovely meeting you, Blair. It's a shame that you have to leave," said Nate with real regret etched into his features and voice.

Blair smiled at him. "Thank-you Nate. I'm sure our paths will cross again."

His hand lingered on hers. "I'm sure they will."

Serena only nodded disinterestedly at Blair and was more interested in pouring herself a glass of champagne.

As Chuck escorted a sulking Ruby and an ebullient Blair to the corridor, he murmured in Blair's ear. "I hope you like the look of your future husband."

Her eyed widened.

"Yes. Nathaniel is besotted with you. In six months, you will be the next Mrs. Archibald if you and I play our cards right. I told you I would keep my promise."

"But Nate would never marry a governess…"

"He will marry you. He'd be stupid not to," he whispered harshly. "He's devoured with thoughts of you and this isn't the 1800's. If you can fuel his lust and love, you'll have little trouble getting that Archibald diamond ring on your finger—mark my words."

"So this luncheon was for Nate to finally meet me…"

"Yes," he said shortly. "If you've finished with the questions, I can return to my friends and listen to him moon about you."

Blair narrowed her eyes. "If you dare try to sabotage me…"

Chuck sneered, "Give me some credit, Miss Waldorf. As long as you fulfill your side of the bargain, I'll fulfill mine."

With that, he turned on his heel and stalked back to the lounge leaving Blair standing with thoughts swirling around her head and her heart a tumult of emotions.


	4. Chapter 4

**IV. Indulgence**

The following day, Blair was braiding Ruby's hair when Ruby's bedroom door was unceremoniously banged opened and Chuck strode through carrying two packages.

"Here my little twirling ballerina," said Chuck to Ruby, handing her one of the packages. Ruby's eyes lit up. She eagerly tore open the pearl coloured box and from the nest of matching pearl tissue paper, she pulled out a lace white dress with a giant satin bow. "Daddy!" she squealed. "This is exactly what the princesses in books wear!"

Chuck nodded absent mindedly, his eyes on Blair only. While Ruby twirled and pirouetted around in heavenly delight with the dress against her, he held out a scarlet red box that was the size of a child's coffin to Blair. "For you, Miss Waldorf," he said in a quiet voice.

Blair kept her hands folded in her lap. "What's that?"

"A gift," he said as if he was speaking to a slow-witted child.

"I can't accept it."

He glanced to check that Ruby wasn't paying attention. "Do you want to enchant Nathaniel?'

The barest shade of pink tinged her cheeks. She did not answer.

"I haven't laced it with arsenic," he snapped. "Take the damn thing before Ruby makes a big scene about this box!"

Blair reluctantly took hold of the box as if it was an explosive device.

"Nathaniel will be enraptured by you when you wear it—believe me," he said, his eyes harsh.

"He will know that I could never afford whatever is in this box. He will doubt my morality," murmured Blair, careful to not let Ruby overhear.

Chuck shook his head. "No he will never know. I have expounded your virtues of frugality and modesty, so he will merely think you carefully saved money for this purchase."

Blair levelly met his eyes. "What extra services do I have to do to repay you for this dress?"

Chuck's face darkened and something unidentifiable flashed through his eyes. "Nothing. All I ask is that I see you wear it tonight at Lysander. Our agreement hasn't changed."

Blair nodded, her expression deliberately blank. She did not want to open the box, fearing what kind of gift was inside. Was he planning to make her into an object of ridicule?

"Aren't you going to open it? Most people love presents," he asked, his eyes glittering like a predator circling his prey.

Blair was about to reply when Vanessa stepped into Ruby's room and announced Mrs. Bass' arrival. Her eyes flickered to the gift in Blair's hands and Blair did not miss the disdain in Vanessa's eyes. Chuck snatched the box back from Blair just as Vanessa wheeled Penelope in.

Penelope was adorned in a fuchsia gown with hideous feathers around the neck. Her hair was curled into tight ringlets and her face was slathered in make-up.

"Charles," she greeted him breathlessly, holding out her translucent hand to him.

"Darling, I have a gift for you," said Chuck, his face inscrutable as he crossed over to her and kissed her hand in what seemed to Blair a perfunctory way devoid of real feeling.

"For me?" she asked like a vain teenage girl with her first beau, fluttering her eyelashes. Blair inwardly cringed at Penelope's dog-like affection for Chuck.

"Of course, darling. Who else?"

From her position behind Penelope's wheelchair, Vanessa sent Blair a pointed look.

"Daddy was showing Miss Waldorf your present before you came in, mummy," added Ruby.

Blair stiffened.

"What?" Penelope asked, her voice rising several octaves.

"Darling, I was merely asking for a woman's opinion. I wanted to ensure that I had purchased the right gift," Chuck smoothly countered. "There's nothing sordid going on."

Blair fought down the image of Chuck's hands gliding over the swell of her breasts in the darkness of Lysander and chastised herself for even thinking about it.

"Why would you demean you and me by showing a gift to a _servant_ of all people who would never be able to afford luxury!" Penelope shrilled. "How do I know this gift isn't for that whore over there?"

"For Christ sakes, Penelope! How many times do I have to tell you that I am not diddling with the hired help! You will apologise to Miss Waldorf and cease to make such wild accusations that will only embarrass you, and by connection, me."

Penelope shrieked and threw down the box, causing a silky black gown to half escape from its encasing. "You heartless bastard!"

Somehow, Penelope found the strength to launch herself from her wheelchair at Chuck, clawing at his face. Chuck swore, gripping her wrists in attempt to subdue her while Blair gathered a terrified Ruby in her arms. Vanessa attempted to aid Chuck but Penelope kicked out at Vanessa's gut, causing her to double over. Blair watched in horror as Penelope howled like a banshee, madly attempting to inflict some sort of harm upon Chuck, her body thrashing while foul abuse fell from her lips. Chuck's forehead was bleeding and his face was flushed with exertion.

"In the name of God, get my daughter out of this room!" Chuck roared to Blair as Penelope spat in his face and kicked hard at his leg.

Blair did not need to be asked twice. She scooped up a sobbing Ruby and immediately whisked her out of the room.

* * *

About half an hour later, Blair left Ruby sleeping in the library (who exhausted herself from crying so hard) and found a cloth that she dampened so she could clean Ruby's room and set right the furniture again.

To her surprise, she found Chuck sitting on Ruby's baby stool with his back slumped.

He stirred at her entrance and she made move to leave the room but he said in a dead voice: "Stay."

She reluctantly obeyed, feeling an unusual pang of pity for him.

Silence fell.

"You're bleeding," she observed, finally breaking the silence. The left side of his face had a line of blood trickling down it, which stained his stark white collar.

"Very well observed," he sarcastically responded.

"Here, let me fix it," she said, ignoring his barb. Standing over him, she tipped his head to the side and dabbed at his wound with the cloth she was originally going to use for the furniture.

"It's not life threatening wound," he muttered. "Her bloody diamond ring took a chunk from my forehead."

"I'd say a chunk is a little dramatic, sir," Blair mildly returned.

"Would you now?"

"Yes."

Chuck's lips twitched and Blair was unsure as to whether it was from grim amusement or annoyance. However, he did not reply and merely closed his eyes as she cleaned away the blood.

Her eyes drifted to the gown that still lay untouched on the floor.

When she turned back to Chuck, his eyes were now open and he was observing her intensely. "The dress is still yours, Miss Waldorf."

Blair withdrew the cloth from his face. "I can't take it after all that's happened today."

"You can and you will take it. Don't let some momentary scruples prevent you from your ultimate goal."

"Pardon me, sir, but I think—"

"Do you want to marry Nathaniel?"

Blair nodded.

"Do you want wealth, power, and prestige?"

"Yes."

"Then take the damn dress. Penelope certainly won't wear it and for all his gushing sentiments, my dear friend Nathaniel would not give you a second glance if you turned up in one of your cheap frocks at a formal occasion. He may talk sentimental, but he acts like a practical man."

"And this is coming from you who is known for his moral principles?" sardonically asked Blair.

Chuck snatched her left hand in his own which caused Blair to nearly fall on him, his gaze unnervingly intense. Her body was now a hairbreadth away from his. "I have arranged for Nathaniel to take you out tomorrow evening to one of the private restaurants that I own. The gown is especially for that occasion. You will receive a card from him by this afternoon."

She unconsciously licked her lips. "Why are you helping me?"

She saw his eyes focus on her mouth and her face heated up.

"My motives don't matter, do they?"

"They do to me," retorted Blair, annoyed at herself for her unintentionally breathless tone.

His thumb started tracing slow circles on her hand. "As long as you get what you want, it doesn't matter what my motives are."

Blair jerked her hand away from his and stepped back. "That still doesn't answer my question."

Chuck stretched his legs out as if he was not bothered by Blair's questions. "By the way, you need not worry about my wife stalking the corridors—she's heavily sedated."

Blair blinked. So focused she had been upon Chuck and their bargain that she had almost forgot about Penelope's horrific display. "I'm sorry that she suffers."

Chuck's face contorted. "It will be a blessing for us all when she dies," he said savagely.

"That's horrible!"

"Don't you dare play the saint to me! You have no idea what I have endured."

"Oh, it must be _so hard_ for little rich boy to palm his unstable wife off to some nurses while he beds other women, increases the dominion of Bass Industries and drinks Scotch! _What hardship_."

Chuck shot up, his fists clenched. "I have given that woman a comfortable house, beautiful clothes and a powerful place in society. I never wanted to marry her but our fathers insisted upon the match. I never flaunted my affairs in front of her and I never beat her—"

"But you don't treat her with respect or love! You treat her has if she is a pesky pet that you have to shower with treats in order to keep her obedient. You have no respect for her and the servants have told me that you and your father used to laugh together at her for her lack of education in front of guests—even when it was just the three of you dining at home, you and your father would also speak in Latin, German or French together because you both knew she could not understand any of the languages—"

His whole frame shuddered. "Try being married to a woman, who on our wedding night, tried to attack me with a pair scissors because she forgot where she was and thought I was some stranger wanting to rape her. I spent my wedding night watching her being sedated by a doctor and realising that my father-in-law had deceived me by attributing her moods to high spirits and a passionate nature. I now knew why he never let me talk to her unchaperoned—I thought it was because he was worried for her virtue—" he bitterly laughed, his face looking as if a bleak winter had enveloped it in its dark and twisted grasp, "—when in fact it was because he feared her unstable nature would prevent my father from agreeing to the union!"

Blair could not speak. Inexplicably, her heart twisted.

He was breathing heavily. 'Now do you see? I know that my soul is as black as Satan's cloved hoof and that I will be punished for my wrongs, but I will not have my wife's decay be completely attributed to me! I could have sent her off to an asylum where she would undergo unspeakable things, but I kept her here in this house…"

"But some compassion would have helped her greatly."

Chuck turned his back on her and went to the balcony door. "I know my weaknesses, Miss Waldorf, and I'm bitterly paying for them. Whatever else I am, I'm no humbug."

Blair's heart thudded.

"Take the dress and go, Miss Waldorf. Don't worry about righting Ruby's room—you're a governess, not a housemaid."

Blair did not want to touch the dress. She thought it tainted.

Chuck remained unmoving, looking out the window. "I'll not ask again—take the dress."

Blair picked up the gown, feeling as if it was a great weight and something dirty.

"I'll not need to see you tonight, Miss Waldorf—something of which I'm sure you will be glad."

"But—"

"Don't worry. Your precious Nathaniel will still see you tomorrow evening," interrupted Chuck, devoid of emotion. "Leave me now."

Blair did not wait around to be told twice. She quickly left the room, shaken by Chuck's unexpected divulging of his marital history.

She did not see Chuck for the rest of the day.

Yet that night, she dreamed of Chuck's mouth and hands feverishly worshipping her body, making her awake bathed in a sheen of sweat and her senses pleasurably tingling. Even though it was a dream, it appeared as if Chuck had transcended the boundaries between reality and fantasy, and was making his stamp upon her.

At the thought of him, Blair was filled with a combustible combination of loathing and lust. She could no longer tell the difference between the two. She was drawn to his power, his darkness, intellect and confidence. She simultaneously abhorred his calculation, moral flexibility and power hunger. She loathed the way he could pierce her very soul and gauge her weaknesses and strengths.

Yet she did not quit her job. She easily could have resigned and gone to teach at a school. She did not deceive herself that it was because she loved Ruby and could not bear to part from her. It was because of the tantalizing promises of power and prestige that compelled her to stay on. She was more like Chuck than she cared to admit. She longed to throw off the shackles of servility and assume the mantle of governor. She wanted to make society fall at her feet and demand absolute fealty from her supplicants.

At those thoughts, Blair attempted to suppress them. She did not like to dwell upon how similar she was to Chuck. It was too disconcerting and she liked to think that she was morally superior to him. But then, what virtuous girl would allow her employer to compromise her self-worth in the darkness of an empty restaurant in return for social advancement? Not a very pious one…

* * *

The next evening, Blair was fully dressed in the black gown with only twenty minutes left before Nathaniel's arrival. Ruby sat on the edge of Blair's bed, enraptured by Blair's fairytale dress. Blair was twirling around at a giggling Ruby's behest so she did not hear Chuck enter.

"The dress is magnificent, Miss Waldorf," smoothly commented Chuck, "Nathaniel will be enthralled."

Blair abruptly stopped twirling at Chuck's words, realising his presence.

"Doesn't she look pretty, daddy?" asked Ruby.

Chuck did not reply. His eyes seemed to be devouring Blair and Blair could not tear her gaze from his. She felt as if he was consuming her.

"Daddy?" prompted Ruby, tugging at his hand.

"Yes. She looks fine," shortly replied Chuck.

Ruby snorted. "_Daddy_. She looks like a princess! You're so mean. Why can't I go with her tonight?"

"Because, little one, Miss Waldorf is having a night off—that means no precocious five-year olds who disrespect their fathers are allowed to hamper her evening."

Ruby pouted. "That's so unfair!"

"Life's unfair, Ruby. That's one unfortunate fact that you'll have to learn," Chuck answered, his eyes briefly flickering to Blair and then back to his daughter. "Besides, your grandpa is returning from Boston tonight and expects you to greet him."

Ruby immediately brightened. "Has he got a present for me?"

"He might not have one if he hears about your unruly behaviour."

Ruby hugged her father around the middle. "I'll be good," she wheedled.

Blair was not sure if Chuck was grimacing or smiling. "We'll see, little one, we'll see. Come, let us give Miss Waldorf some peace so Nathaniel will not see her in evil spirits."

"Thank-you, Mr. Bass," quietly returned Blair.

He reached out and clasped her hand in his, sending an electric jolt through her. "Have an enjoyable evening, Miss Waldorf."

She was sure that he felt it too, because he immediately dropped her hand and his normally cynical and laconic composure was briefly unsettled.

"I plan to, Mr. Bass."

"Good," he said as if he had not used his voice for a millennia.

"Good," echoed Blair.

Chuck gestured to the door. "After you."

Like an imperious queen from one of Ruby's books, Blair swept out of the room and down the silent stairs, ignoring Vanessa's disapproving look.

Nate was waiting at the foot of the stairs. He widely smiled. "Blair, you look…well, I'm sure you know how radiant you appear tonight."

He held out his hand and Blair gracefully clasped it when she descended the stairs, chastising herself for feeling momentarily disheartened that she did not feel a jolt in her heart at the union of their hands.

"Chuck, you were right—this one is a beauty!" called Nate up the stairs to where Chuck stood on the landing.

Chuck's face was a picture of lazy detachment. "I think you're exaggerating, my friend-you're infusing your own sentiments with my own less flowery ones."

Nate amusedly rolled his eyes. "If it wasn't for you, I don't think I would have ever met a beauty such as this!"

Blair was rankled by the way Nate talked about her as if she was a silent entity. Against her better judgment, she found herself glancing up at Chuck. His eyes glinted at her. It was obvious he was taking perverse amusement in the exchange. In response, Blair glared at Chuck as Nate turned his back to open the door.

"Make sure you guard Miss Waldorf, Nathaniel. I should hate to see my daughter deprived of her governess," drawled Chuck.

Nate chuckled. "I promise, Chuck. You won't hear any complaint of my behaviour, right Blair?"

Blair smoothly smiled. "Of course, Nate. You're a gentleman of impeccable pedigree and morals." As she spoke, she shot Chuck a pointed look, and was secretly gratified to see his face darken in displeasure.

"See that, Chuck! Blair has taste—I think I have found my perfect mate," Nate declaimed, raising Blair's hand to his lips with a grand flourish. "I think it's time we departed before we spend our whole evening in the entrance hall of the Melusine's penthouse!"

"I couldn't agree more," conceded Blair, boldly sliding her arm around Nate's elbow.

Just as Blair was about to walk out of the door to the elevator that was to take her and Nate to the ground floor, she glanced back and saw a solitary Chuck standing on the landing of the steps. He was practically engulfed by shadows and an elaborate ceiling light made of sharply cut crystal made the shadows dance around his face. When he saw her look back, he simply inclined his head to her and then departed from the landing without any further ado.


	5. Chapter 5

**V. Lust**

Despite Blair's intention to remain unawed, she was completely floored by the lavish trappings of Chuck's restaurant, Agora. She had never seen such opulence. Though the Lysander was by no means a hovel, it was a more muted affair of blinding white tablecloths, antique mahogany chairs, porcelain crockery, and silver cutlery—more in sync with Bart's austereness—than the Agora.

As Nate led her through the entrance, she drank in the rich sensual reds and burgundy furnishings; leather booths where couples seemed to be entrenched in their own bubble of intimacy; the table lamps that emanated a soft golden glow upon its occupants and surroundings; the walls were adorned with framed pictures of scantily clad Parisian dancers and actresses who stared beguilingly at the camera; and the remainder of Agora was like a museum crammed with artefacts in glass cases—tribal masks, spears, priceless vases and other antique objects.

If the Lysander was the puritan patriarch, then the Agora was its lavish and rebellious daughter.

"This place is amazing, isn't it, Blair?" said Nate as they followed the waiter to their designated table, shaking Blair out of her stunned silence. "Agora is always booked to the hilt and to even get a table here, you have to book sometimes months in advance. This is the place if you ever want to rub shoulders with the influential and powerful of the Upper East Side."

"Really?"

"Yes. Chuck was only eighteen when he established this and proved to people that he was more than a hanger-on of his father's success. Actually—" Nate paused, and when the waiter had sat them down and departed for the menus, he continued his speech in a hushed voice: "Can I be honest with you, Blair, about your employer?"

"Of course, Nate."

Nate tugged at his tie like he was uncomfortable. "I know you must think very little of me for associating with Chuck—as I'm sure you've heard all about his reputation—and I want to reassure you that I share none of his questionable morals."

Blair quirked an eyebrow. "You don't need to justify yourself to me."

"No…I think I do. I know Chuck has done deplorable things but for some bizarre reason, Serena and I both continue to gravitate towards him as if there's some unnatural magnetic power in him…it may be because he can always provide us with a good time and that he gets more of a free reign than Serena and I could—and can—ever get…and when we're with him, we get lost in some sort of a hedonistic bubble…"

"So you're more in a relationship of convenience with Chuck, then?" asked Blair bluntly.

"Well…I wouldn't put it like that."

"I'm not judging you, Nate. Believe me." She smiled at him, thinking of her own highly immoral predicament with Chuck.

Nate reached over and entwined his left hand with her right, his face soft. "You are unlike any woman I've met, Blair. I feel so lucky that Chuck brought the two of us together."

Blair was stopped—or saved?—from responding to Nate's ardent declaration by the reappearance of the waiter with menus.

Without asking for Blair's drinks preference, Nate promptly ordered a bottle of 1870 French champagne from the Loire region.

"Now, where were we?" Nate asked, joining their hands together again. "Tell me about yourself."

Blair rehashed an abridged life story—excluding her abusive stepfather, her alcoholic and downtrodden mother, and the rumours regarding her father's sexual predilections—instead emphasising her love of literature and music, and her dream of travelling the world.

Nate listened to her without interrupting her, only asking questions. Blair felt like she was on guard the whole time and was afraid of letting slip something that would repel him. She only wanted to appear as a pure yet desirable princess.

Drinking the champagne did not help either since she was not used to drinking alcohol in large quantities except for the odd nip of Scotch. Nate kept on plying her with drinks so that the main dinner and dessert passed in a blur. She found Nate a restrictive conversationalist because he knew so little about topics that did not relate to sport. Her mind began to drift while he talked about a horse he bet on but she made sure she expressed exclamations of awe in the right places and at all times she pretended to be enraptured in what he was saying.

For some reason that Blair refused to gauge, her thoughts returned to Chuck. She imagined what it would be like sitting across from him in Agora and what type of conversation they would engage in. She pictured his intense face staring unwaveringly back at her as if she was a heavenly opiate that he could drown his senses in and completely surrender himself to.

She inwardly shook herself out of her thoughts. Why did she suddenly want to go back to Lysander and feel his hands slide over her silk covered body? Had she suddenly turned into someone like Nate and Serena who perceived Chuck as someone with whom they could abandon all inhibitions and embrace their most carnal and primitive desires without condemnation, contempt or remonstrance? She reasoned that it must be the champagne that was befuddling her senses and distorting all logical reason and morality…

By now, Nate had now moved onto narration of a victorious polo match, thinking that Blair's dazed look was because his physical daring impressed her. Blair silently remonstrated with herself for being so inattentive to Nate who was everything that Chuck was not: honest, simple, cheerful, and uncomplicated. If she was ever to get herself out of the rut she was in, Nate was her only passport out.

* * *

Blair and Nate finally left Agora at midnight. He was a complete gentleman and only gave her a peck on the cheek, but Blair could see the desire and longing in his eyes at being parted from her. Her head was slightly woozy from the alcohol but she had never felt more vibrant while her cheeks were lightly flushed, her eyes were sparkling and her lips were full and red.

She saw his eyes linger on her mouth and she knew that he wanted to kiss her, but to maintain her façade of a lady and increase his ardour for her, she merely kissed his cheek and gave him a suitably forlorn face when she murmured that she hoped they could see each other soon.

Nate's face shone. "Of course, Blair! I will be calling upon Chuck tomorrow, so we can discuss our next outing then. Goodnight and sleep well, Blair."

Blair smiled—she could not help it. Despite his limited conversational abilities, there was no doubt that Nate was someone she could see herself having a stable, peaceful and uncomplicated life with, and who could bring her prestige, wealth and respectability in society. "And you too, Nate."

With that, she ascended the Melusine stairs while Nate waited until she got inside and then he got into his chauffeured car and drove away.

* * *

Blair's body was buzzing. Her mind was swirling. There was no possibility of her sleeping anytime soon. She needed a distraction to soothe her mind and the only option she could think of was to play the piano. She assumed that because Chuck's father had returned from Boston, there would be no chance of Chuck haunting Lysander.

She creaked open Lysander's door and silently made her way to the piano.

However, she involuntarily gasped when she observed that she was far from alone.

Chuck was at the piano.

He was not playing the piano. Instead, he was facing her with a glass of Scotch. He did not say anything but Blair felt as if his eyes were burning like gas lamps through the darkness. The only light was a sliver of moonlight peeking in from the curtain.

"I gather the night with Nathaniel went well?"

Blair straightened her posture and glided like a queen over to him. If he thought that he could cower her, he was to be sorely mistaken.

"Yes," she breathed. "He was quite the gentleman and did not try anything untoward."

"Unlike me."

"Completely unlike you, the Upper East Side's Lucifer prince."

Her mind was screaming that she should exit Lysander and seek the sanctuary of her room because she would regret whatever actions she was about to take, but the champagne she consumed earlier had dulled her reasoning power and instead heightened her sense of sensuality and desire to dominate Chuck.

"Then you must be the incandescent moth that is drawn to the darkness, Miss Waldorf, in order to adorn yourself with the mantle of pulsing power," returned Chuck, his voice sinister in the half-dark.

"Indeed, Mr. Bass."

Blair plucked his Scotch glass from his hand and placed it on the piano's lid. He did not protest. Nor did he protest when Blair then stepped between his sprawled legs so that now she was leaning over him and he had to tip his head up to her. She clasped his head in both her hands.

"There's one thing you have to learn, Mr. Bass," she said breathily.

His hands were now roaming up and down her hips, buttocks and thighs. "And what's that, Miss Waldorf?"

She brought her lips within an inch of his: "I may be drawn to the darkness but I will never be consumed or dominated by it."

Her lips then claimed Chuck's, burning with intensity. She took fistfuls of Chuck's hair in her hands while Chuck hungrily returned her kisses. He attempted to rise up to meet her kisses but Blair thrust him down and straddled him so she could gain better purchase. Their tongues angrily lashed together and their mouths feverishly melded. A strangled groan came from Chuck's lips as his hands ran down her sides and cupped her buttocks, pressing her flush against him. His hands recommenced their roaming of her body; he cupped her breasts and ran his thumbs over her erect nipples, causing Blair to breathily moan and arch herself shamelessly against him.

"_Blair_…" he gasped.

Hot spikes of pleasure surged through her. All coherent plans of domination flew from her mind. She wrenched his head back and he hissed in pain. She wanted to see his eyes. She wanted to see if he was as consumed with her as she was with him. His breath was ragged and she shuddered with a combination of lust and fear at the sheer primal expression in his eyes. He seemed as if he wanted to devour her.

"You are my Persephone," he harshly said as he yanked her face down to his again with equal violence. Blair moaned against the onslaught of his lips as a frisson of pain and pleasure pulsed through her. He left her lips and sought the new territory of her milky neck and collarbone while she tipped her head back so he could have unfettered access.

Amid the tempest of her feelings, Nate appeared to be a benign memory in a sunlit glade while Chuck was a volcanic dark force that wholly enveloped her as if she was a lone swimmer in the ocean on an inky black night…

Suddenly, Blair felt as if her dress was hot and confining, and she breathily gasped against his mouth at the image of Chuck's hands running over nude body while he grunted something incomprehensible against her neck.

However, Blair was rudely snatched from her heightened state of arousal by the crashing sound of Chuck's Scotch bottle to the floor.

It was as if a knife had sliced through her erotic haze.

Sanity was restored.

She immediately pulled herself away from him and smoothed down her dress, trying to bring her erratic breathing under control. Blair had never seen Chuck so disheveled and animalistic. He was breathing hard and she could see from the state of his trousers that he was fully aroused.

If Blair did not act quickly, she knew that he would gain control of her again and that she would not be able to protect herself against the full force of his desires—and, if she was to be honest, her own too.

He held out his hand to her. "Blair, come back here…"

Blair had to turn away for a moment because his hypnotic gaze almost arrested her while loathing and lust battled for prominence in her body. However, the thought of marrying Nate and gaining high social standing managed to quell the rebellious desire to abandon herself to a passion fuelled encounter with man who represented everything she detested and could only lead her to ruin and unhappiness.

So, with as much emotionless dignity as she could muster—despite her mussed hair, smeared make-up, crinkled dress and the heat that was coursing through her deepest core—she coolly said: "I think this little interlude fully makes up for this dress you purchased for me, don't you think, Mr. Bass?"

His face changed in an instant. For a moment, she truly feared he would attempt to force himself on her because his expression was like a black chasm.

"I'd advise you to depart before I lose whatever semblance of self-control that I am currently exercising," he replied in a dangerously soft voice. "Thank-you, Miss Waldorf, for paying your dues. I'm sure Nathaniel will be pleased to receive a mercenary whore like you in his bed."

Blair defiantly stared him down. "And I'm sure that he will be pleased to socialise with a man who likes to manipulate vulnerable women for his own perverse reasons."

His chest heaved and his eyes glittered menacingly. "You'd be the last woman I'd describe as vulnerable."

Blair was about to retort when he stood up and advanced towards her like he was about to tip over into insanity. "Get out," he hissed. "Just get out. This is your last chance."

"Goodnight, Mr. Bass," levelly replied Blair, who was determined not to show her fear, and managed to depart without shaking.

It was only when she reached the sanctuary of her room that she bolted her door and collapsed onto her bed in a convulsion of tears.

What had she gotten herself into? Why did she allow herself to be inflamed with this unexplainable lust for a man she abhorred? Would Chuck seek to wreak vengeance upon her and ruin her only chance of prosperity with Nate?

Anguished Blair could not answer any of these perplexing questions and could only sob into her pillow.

At that point, Blair did not think there was any other existing human being who was more wretched than her.


	6. Chapter 6

**VI. Etiquette**

The next morning, Blair did not think she had ever looked worse. Her face was reminiscent of sour milk and dark shadows hung under her eyes. In between crying and drifting asleep, Blair was tortured with the continuous nightmare of her and Chuck naked and entwined together as flames consumed their bodies and their flesh blackened and charred; ecstasy and pain in one.

She tried to push back the image of Chuck's hands on her body and his mouth on her lips and neck, but it was virtually impossible. She dreaded seeing him and briefly wondered whether it was worth compromising herself just to live in luxury for the rest of her life.

After splashing her face with chilled water and dressing in a sober black dress with a v-neck cut and lace around the edge, she went over to Ruby's room to awake her. However, Vanessa accosted her in the hallway.

"Mr. Bass wants to see you in the breakfast room," Vanessa dully said.

Blair stiffened.

"Mr. Bart Bass, that is."

"Thank-you, Vanessa. Do you know what he wants?"

For an instant, Blair saw the smallest of smirks cross Vanessa's face. "I have no idea. I will see to Ruby."

Blair blandly nodded and made her way to the breakfast room. This was the first time she was to meet Bart Bass since her employment commenced and she feared what he wanted to see her about.

Had Chuck told him about their decidedly sordid encounters and Bart was planning to fire her? Was she about to be disgraced and have all her dreams destroyed?

Blair swallowed and composed herself. If that indeed was to be the case, Blair was not planning to be a simpering, blubbering ninny. She smartly rapped on the door.

"Come in," came the perfectly modulated voice of Bart that betrayed no emotion whatsoever.

Blair said a silent prayer and pushed the door open. She found Bart standing at the head of the breakfast table with one arm holding onto the back of the chair and the other in his pants pocket. Bart's stance reminded Blair of an eighteenth century autocratic Prussian emperor. His face was like looking into a winter chill. If his son was all fire, then Bart was surely ice with his grey-blue eyes, razor sharp features and closely cropped white hair.

"You asked to see me, sir?"

"Please sit, Miss Waldorf," said Bart, gesturing to the chair next to him.

Blair gracefully lowered herself into the chair while Bart continued to stand over her.

"Now, Miss Waldorf, I have just been informed of some rather unusual activities committed by you."

Blair's cheeks became hot. "What do you mean by 'unusual'?"

Bart coolly raised an eyebrow. "Why, your liaison with Nathaniel Archibald. Miss Abrams informed me of it last night. She thought it decidedly improper for the governess to diddle with someone above her station."

"I haven't done anything improper. My association with Mr. Archibald has not gone beyond one dinner which he himself initiated."

"Ah."

"And besides, it is none of your business to whom I decide to attach myself to," said Blair defiantly.

Bart smirked. "Really?"

"Yes. I haven't compromised myself. You don't need to worry about me sullying your family name."

"Is that so?" he malevolently breathed.

Blair did not like the rather unpleasant expression on Bart's features that was like a hunter reigning in his prey to make the final kill.

"Did you know my son left again at first light?" Bart asked, abruptly changing the topic. Suspicion filled Blair at Bart's suddenly neutral tone.

He was up to something.

"No, I didn't," replied Blair with equal nonchalance.

"He seemed not up to his usual spirits," continued Bart, his blue eyes piercing hers. "He was most eager to head up to Rhode Island to close a new deal for me."

"And why does your son's odd behaviour concern me?"

"Because of what else Miss Abrams deigned to divulge."

Blair involuntarily took a sharp intake of breath. "Sir?"

Bart did not bat an eyelid. "She told me you're fucking my son."

All colour drained from Blair's face. "That's vicious slander."

"Is it?"

"Yes. I haven't—as you so boldly stated—'fucked' your son. You can ask him yourself."

"You needn't be so prudish—I'm not judging you, Miss Waldorf. All I ask that if you are indeed spreading your legs for my son, please act with discretion. I hardly want my granddaughter to witness loose behaviour from a woman or have to fund a Bass bastard's education."

Blair nearly choked. "Pardon?"

Bart pulled a chair in front of Blair. "Miss Waldorf, my son has had few joys—if any—in his barren marital life, so I hardly begrudge him seeking pleasure in more attractive, pleasing female companions. However, I must insist that you behave discretely and do not flaunt his favour—especially in front of Penelope who will not be around us for too much longer, thank Christ."

Blair was not sure whether she was more shocked at Bart's blunt disregard for sexual morality and his daughter-in-law, or more humiliated that Bart thought she was a whore bedding his son.

"Also, if you do become with child, I'll have no hesitation tossing you out onto the street without a dime to your name and spread the rumour that the baby is Nathaniel's. My son will hardly protest."

Before Blair could reply, Dan and Vanessa bustled in with Bart's breakfast. Blair did not miss Vanessa's satisfied look, and knew that Vanessa was hoping that Bart would reprimand her.

"You can go now, Miss Waldorf," said Bart, as if he was bored by the mere sight of her.

Blair flushed and rose to leave. She did not want to see Vanessa's smug look. Yet, before she turned the doorknob, Bart drawled with obvious relish: "You have done great progress with my granddaughter, by the way, Miss Waldorf. Keep up the good work."

"Thank-you, sir," answered a very surprised Blair, and was secretly delighted by Vanessa's flabbergasted expression.

* * *

Nate came visiting at four pm. He courteously kissed her cheek and expressed appropriate—and feigned—disappointment that Chuck was not able to join them.

"You look unwell, Blair. Are you ill?"

Blair forced a smile. She could not exactly inform Nate that the reason she was haggard was because she had been fretting over whether Chuck would divulge their 'bargain' to Nate. "Nothing. I'm just weary."

His brow creased in concern, and he said softly, "Well, somehow I think that you won't have to continue this life of servitude forever."

Blair's heart jumped. Was he insinuating what she thought he was? Marriage? She feigned modesty and tilted her head down so she could coyly look up at him through her long eyelashes. "Oh Nate…I wish…"

Nate captured her hands in his, his eyes intense. "What do you wish?" he whispered.

"I wish—"

"I'm not disturbing you, am I?" interrupted Bart, calmly striding into the room with a pile of papers and a glass of wine.

Nathaniel immediately dropped Blair's hands as if they were scalding. He shot up. "Mr. Bass."

"Nathaniel."

Blair wanted to castigate Bart at interrupting at such a crucial moment. If only he had come in a few minutes later…

"Sir," she said through stiff lips.

"Miss Waldorf."

Bart then proceeded to set himself down in the lounge chair, placed his feet on a sumptuous footstool, and started to peruse through his documents. "Don't mind me. I know you're both adults, but as to avoid any malicious gossip, I feel it's my duty to chaperone you."

"Mr. Bass, I hardly think that it's necessary for you to—"

"Nathaniel, the last time I checked, you're a visitor in my house. If you wish to continue your association with Miss Waldorf without me, then you must do it outside of my domain and outside of Miss Waldorf's working hours. I'm not going to pay Miss Waldorf just to enjoy your moon-eyed looks and lovelorn poetry when she's supposed to be working."

Nathaniel blanched at Bart's steely voice while Blair had never seen Nate lost for words until now.

"I'm s-s-sorry, Mr. Bass. I didn't mean…"

Bart's gaze was unnerving. "What did you mean then, Nathaniel?"

Nate flushed and he pulled at the neck of his shirt. "Don't worry."

"I'll hardly lose any sleep over you, Nathaniel."

Then Bart focused on his papers like Blair and Nate did not exist. Nate exchanged an embarrassed look with Blair. "I better go."

"I think that's a good idea, Nathaniel," drolly concurred Bart without raising his eyes.

To Blair, Nate now seemed like a truant schoolchild being chastised by a stern headmaster. She did not think she had observed a man so emasculated before.

"Good-bye, Nate."

"Bye, Blair," hurriedly returned Nate and without a second glance, departed.

Blair was left dumbstruck on the couch.

"I think it best if you get back to my granddaughter now and do what I'm paying you for—don't you?" asked Bart.

Blair pursed her lips and fought down the urge to retort. Instead, she said with artificial sweetness, "Of course, sir."

* * *

Blair then passed two weeks without seeing Chuck (who, she learnt from Ruby's old nursemaid, Dorota, was in Boston), though his absence did not abate her fears that he would seek to destroy her. She saw Nate sporadically over that period and received dozen of epistles from Nate that declared his undying love and other such trite sentiments. As much as she appreciated Nate's safeness and the fact that he was her meal ticket out of servitude, dissatisfaction silently lurked in the recesses of her heart and mind.

Much to her chagrin, Blair found herself missing the thrill of danger and uncertainty that occurred whenever Chuck walked into the room. She missed the way he drawled, "Miss Waldorf" as if her name was some sort of sensual, erotic notion. Neither could she forget the ragged way he gasped her Christian name as she straddled him those two weeks ago in the darkness of Lysander. But she simultaneously chided herself for thinking those lascivious thoughts when she full well knew that Chuck embodied all the vices she was taught to abhor and avoid and that he would only bring her ruin.

A couple of days later, Blair received an invitation from Nate to join him at an exclusive evening party at his residence where the cream of society was to gather.

Panic rose in her gut. She had no appropriate dress to wear that would not invite derision. She could hardly wear the same dress that she wore on their first evening at the Agora—though if Blair was honest, she could never ever wear that black gown again because it would be forever associated with the feverish embraces of her and Chuck that night in Lysander. If she wore it, she felt as if she would be garbing herself in sin. But she also did not have enough money to buy anything that would match the standards of the Upper East Side heiresses.

She delayed over replying to the invitation for two days, weighing up whether to accept or not. She had no idea what to do.

"Miss Blair, here is a package for you," said Dorota, interrupting Blair's train of thought.

"Oh. Right…thanks, Dorota," murmured Blair distractedly. "Do you know who it's from?"

"No, Miss Blair. Perhaps from Master Archibald?" Dorota suggested, winking.

Blair smiled. She was warming to Dorota who was a plump sixty-eight year old and treated Blair like she was her daughter. According to Dan (in one of the few conversations Blair ever had with him), Dorota had been the personal maid of Evelyn Bass since Evelyn was a teenage-age girl and had been instrumental in aiding Evelyn and Bart to elope before Evelyn's parents could put a stop to their union.

"Perhaps," replied Blair. Dorota, sensing Blair's desire for privacy, prudently left her alone.

The package was large and oblong. Blair unwrapped the pearl packaging to reveal a matching pearl box. Blair had a sinking feeling as to who the mystery package sender was. She lifted the lid and found a blood red gown made of silk, with a small folded piece of crisp white stationary.

Blair shakily opened the letter. It simply read:

_My Persephone,_

_This dress will ensure your future and lure the rich bait right into your snare._

Blair was torn between gratitude (that she was supplied with a brilliant gown that would eclipse everyone else and thus avoid humiliation) and repulsion (that Chuck somehow thought he owned her and she was his little whore to dress-up).

Yet her pragmatism quickly overrode her outrage and she sent a message to Nate that she would attend his exclusive soiree.

* * *

The night of Nate's soiree quickly sped around, and Chuck had now been away for three weeks. Bart heard of her acceptance with no demur and insisted that she share his chauffeured Rolls to the Archibalds.

Blair was relieved that Nate met her at the entrance as Bart immediately abandoned her to join a cigar-smoking group of men out in the garden.

"You look resplendent, Blair," Nate whispered in her ear. "How did you afford that beautiful gown?"

"I scrimped and saved," lied Blair.

"You are a wonder," he said admiringly.

Blair affected modesty as Nate led her through the room to where Serena was giggling with a group of other beauties. Blair observed the whispers and barely disguised contempt directed at her. She heard people mutter 'upstart' and 'tart', but Blair did not cower. She merely lifted her head like she was a queen and tried to quash the sensation of inadequacy that threatened to surge through her.

Serena smiled widely in supposed welcome but Blair smelt her artifice a mile away as Serena pecked her on the cheek, and greeted her with: "I'm so happy you could make it, Blair. Nate has talked of nothing else!"

"As am I," said Blair politely.

The girl wearing a green dress and a hideous feather head piece who Nate identified as Isabel, tittered. "How did you afford such an item? You're a governess, aren't you?"

"I'm not sure whether you're aware, but the method with which I managed to purchase this dress is called _saving_. Unfortunately, I'm not blessed with a trust fund," curtly replied Blair.

"It's so quaint that you're giving an overworked governess an enjoyable treat out, Nate," cooed Serena. "You're always the noble knight in our little group."

"I'm hardly overworked. In fact, I would say that the Basses are the least—"

"Blair," warned Nate, "There's no need to be touchy."

Blair managed to disguise her shock at the fact that Nate was not supporting her. She saw his flushed face and realised he was _embarrassed_ by Isabel and Serena's comments and wanted to hasten over the fact that he had brought a governess as his date. Blair's throat tightened.

"Why don't you get your little governess a drink? She seems flushed," said Isabel snidely.

Nate went even a brighter shade of red. "Come on, Blair. Would you like champagne?"

Blair was not able to respond before Nate practically dragged her away from Isabel and Serena. Humiliatingly, she found she could not articulate any words. Shame made her mute.

The room now seemed suffocating and constricting, and Blair felt as if she was slowly disintegrating under the harsh glare of the guests' mocking stares, pointed whispers and titters.

She had to get out.

"I'm just going to the bathroom," she muttered in Nate's ear. 'Where is it?"

"Up the stairs to your left," he answered, not able to disguise his relief.

It took all Blair's inner poise not to run up the stairs.

Once she was in the safety of the marble bathroom that she locked, Blair gripped the gold plated sink, and bowed her head as she took deep, shaky breaths in an attempt to calm herself and prevent an onslaught of tears.

She was humiliated that Nate did not even attempt to speak up on her behalf. He was no longer Lancelot. He was more like a flimsy paper knight that blew over at the first sight of turbulence. She should have known that someone like Nate could never withstand the contempt of his peers.

Why hadn't she thought of social disapproval? She had been so focused on ensnaring Nate that she had completely forgotten about social pressure. Then another thought assailed her: did Chuck know this all along? Was his promise to help her win Nate a perverse scheme to ultimately humiliate her because he knew Nate's family and friends would never accept a governess as the Archibald heir's wife? Was Bart sniggering behind his hand with his powerbroker friends?

Rage curled up in her—both at Chuck and at herself for even trusting the Lucifer prince. She should have known better. He probably only wanted to satisfy his own twisted desires by having her under his complete control and touch her anyway he liked.

Blair had no coherent idea on how to extricate herself from this mess. However, the only thing she could do now was to pretend that she did not care that Nate's party guests thought her little better than a jumped up tramp. She would have to formulate her future plans after this ordeal was over.

She took one more sharp intake of breath, checked that her make-up had not run askew, and then she prepared herself to endure the rest of the party.

As she made her way down the stairs, she could not find Nate in the crowd. She could not regard one friendly face in the crowd that would not mind being seen publicly talking to a governess. Only Serena in her gold dress stuck out in the crowd.

Blair steeled herself and walked up to Serena, Isabel, and a gaggle of other society butterflies as if she had no care in the world. "How are you, Serena?"

Serena's lip curled. "Don't talk to me. You may be a passing fancy of Nate's, but you have no standing with me. You're like a stray dog—or should I say bitch?—that Nate picked up off the street and will soon cast off. Pure pedigrees don't mate with homeless dogs."

Blair's tongue thickened in her mouth and her gut twisted sharply. She was about to snap back when she saw Serena's face whiten.

"Chuck!" gasped Serena.

Blair turned around. Chuck was indeed behind her. His face was grim and his eyes were hard. "You're the one to talk about pedigrees and rabble, Serena. Before you degrade my governess, you should look to your own family—I believe your mother is currently allowing my chauffeur, Rufus Humphrey, to merrily have his way with her, if the gossips are to be believed?"

"How dare you!" exclaimed Serena while her companions eyed each other uneasily.

Chuck smirked. "The truth is usually difficult, my dear Serena."

"I'm not going to listen to another word of this! Come on, ladies!" ordered Serena to her minions, who all immediately obeyed and departed Blair and Chuck.

Blair's chest heaved and she wanted to weep. She could not believe that Chuck of all people had defended her. She stumbled back but Chuck steadied her, sending an electric jolt through her.

"Come on, Miss Waldorf. Don't let everyone see your weakness," he murmured in her ear.

His words somehow imparted strength to her and she straightened herself up just as Bart joined them.

"Father, I think Miss Waldorf should return home. Will I escort her back?"

Bart's eyes coolly flickered to Blair. "I don't think so, Charles. Rufus is quite capable of delivering her safely home. Besides, I have need of you here, and you will share my car back."

Chuck inclined his head. "As you wish, father. I'll show her to the car."

Both Blair and Chuck missed the mere shimmer of brightness that graced Bart's eyes like a ray of sun peeking through murky grey clouds. "You do that, Charles."

**Thank-you to all my lovely and amazing reviewers—you all have provided me with so much motivation and support! The next chapter will be some intense C/B-I promise!**


	7. Chapter 7

**VII. Burn**

Blair somehow made it up the elevator of Melusine to the penthouse level without losing her frigid composure. The Bass penthouse was mausoleum silent except for the occasional sob that echoed down the hall from Penelope's room.

She sighed and gingerly pulled off her heels to alleviate her aching feet. It was just after midnight yet she was hardly ready for sleep. Helplessness threatened to gnaw away at her and annoying hot tears pricked at the corners of her eyes but she batted them down.

There was no way that Nate would want to marry her now—not after tonight. The combined pressure of his family and friends would hardly be an incentive for him to place that famed Archibald ring on her finger. What on earth her next step was, she did not know. Everything seemed to be one, big murky haze.

Softly, she treaded to Ruby's room to check on her. Ruby was curled up in a small ball and her gentle, steady breaths signaled that she was peacefully sleeping. Blair nearly cried there and then as she looked upon this innocent, pure girl untouched by sin. Blair lightly caressed Ruby's cheek and then left the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

She needed to steady herself.

Blair padded softly to the lounge and poured herself a Scotch into one of the crystal glasses. She did not care if she was reprimanded for taking liberties with Bart and Chuck's personal liquor collection without permission. Blair welcomed the liquid warmth that crept down her throat as she skulled down the glass in one rapid movement.

She placed the glass back on the table, her limbs suddenly heavy and her eyes droopy. It was as if all the strain of the past few weeks had swept over her like a tsunami leaving her with no mode of defence. Blair made her way back to the couch and lay on it, thinking only to lie there for a few moments, but before she knew it, she drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Some unquantifiable time later, Blair slowly awoke to the odd sensation of someone's fingers caressing her face. She softly yawned and her eyes fluttered open to the sight of Chuck.

She shot upright into a sitting position, her heart thudding. "What-what—"

"Hush, Miss Waldorf," he murmured, his hand reaching up to lightly brush her cheek. "It's only 3.15 in the morning. You don't want to wake everyone, do you?"

Blair's mind was befuddled. She could only stare at him dumbly as he took advantage of her sleep-addled shock and rose up onto his haunches to kiss her lingeringly. Her nerve endings were on fire when their lips met and she could not help but moan breathily into his lips.

"You need not worry about Nathaniel," he heatedly whispered into her ear before he lightly bit down on it.

Despite her better judgment, Blair mewled and pulled him closer to her and wrapped her stocking enclosed legs around his waist so that she now engulfed him. "He rejected me in front of everyone—he was like a bit of fluff that changed with the direction of the wind."

"Hardly, Miss Waldorf."

"But—"

Without warning, Chuck lifted Blair into his arms and sat on the couch with her in his lap facing away from him. His hands slid over her front to cup her breasts while his mouth pressed down on her collarbone. In response, Blair reached back to yank his hair, causing him to bite down on her skin. She moaned as he licked at the small wound.

"Listen to me, Miss Waldorf," he hotly whispered, his hands circling her nipples, "Nate needed only a little pep talk. Tonight was only a minor setback in your courtship. After you left, I spoke to him and expounded your assets—"

He tweaked her nipples and she gasped, "—and told him that he would be a fool to let such a fine specimen of femininity and virtue and—"

He took a sharp intake of breath as Blair ground her buttocks against his crotch, "—and sound moral principles," he choked out, "and I offered my aid, saying I would speak on your behalf to his parents."

"How very selfless of you," she purred, her head lolling back towards him.

"I thought so, too."

He then bowed his head to claim her lips in a searing kiss that left her dizzy and him looking like a starved man.

"What do I need to do to keep him mine?" she said in a low voice, her fingers reaching back to briefly raze over a rather conspicuous bulge in his pants.

He hissed and snatched her hand up and brought it to his lips. "Certainly none of this. Nate prefers women who are above reproach—much like Caesar's wife."

"Then how can I keep him?"

Chuck threaded their fingers together and brought it to her breast. Blair bit her lip at the tingling sensation of their hands jointly stroking her breast, and she let out a strangled moan. "With all your powers of acting. Pretend to be an innocent lady but shoot him coy looks so he will simultaneously lust after your seemingly upright nature and the seductive promises of the marital bed."

"Speaking of virtue, your father seems to think I'm your mistress," said Blair as Chuck's free hand ghosted under her dress and started stroking her thigh. "Vanessa told him."

His hands stilled. "What did you say?"

"I denied it, of course."

"My father likes to play with people. He likes to test their fortitude and spine—it's just his way. He thinks Miss Abrams is a sycophant and only keeps her on because she's the only one who can endure my wife. He already knew of Nathaniel's interest in you—he was merely having some fun with you."

"Oh. Right." Blair could hardly keep her mind in order. Her senses were wreaking havoc upon her body.

Chuck tugged her dress straps off her shoulders and down to her waist so he could have unfettered access to her soft skin. "Do not fear my father, Miss Waldorf. He thinks you've had a positive effect upon my daughter. He's not going to toss you out onto the street."

"Hmmm…"

"This dress feels soft," he murmured against her skin.

"You're not even touching my dress."

"No?"

"No," she whispered as his hands avidly enfolded her bare upper body.

She knew it was wrong to allow him such liberties but she felt helpless against the onslaught of pleasure and sensuality that he bathed her in. She abhorred him but craved the way he made her feel.

She mewled again at his ministrations, twisted her head around so she could see him and their mouths met in ragged, open mouthed, desperate kisses. He let out a stifled groan and Blair somehow managed to contort herself so that she could fully face him and he feverishly pressed her body to his. Heat radiated between them and every nerve ending in Blair's body was on fire. Her mind was a fog and all she could think of was this intoxicating moment.

Without thinking, she panted against his mouth, "Thank-you for defending me tonight."

He briefly stiffened while Blair was suddenly pierced with anxiety. What had she just said? Did she just _thank_ him? Oh God. After everything he had put her through, she was _thanking _him? What on earth was wrong with her?

He clasped her head in his hands, his eyes boring into her. Blair met his gaze unwaveringly. Both of them were breathing heavily but neither spoke. She was pleased that he seemed just as unsettled as she was and she no longer knew who was the master and who was the supplicant. Blair bit her lip and she thought Chuck appeared as if he was a parched man who had been wandering in the desert without any sustenance.

Still not speaking, Chuck slow traced his index finger across Blair's lower lip; Blair, still eyeing him, opened her mouth and languorously ran her tongue over it before pulling away. His gaze burned.

"Miss Waldorf," he said, his voice low and rough, "Nate would be a fool to let you go. I told you I would keep my side of the bargain, and that includes defending you from detractors. It would hardly do for our competitors to think that we hire people of loose morals."

"Well, it would hardly do for Serena and others of her ilk to think that I would allow a man known for his deplorable ways to take advantage of a poor, innocent governess," she breathed, her eyes gleaming.

"Agreed. It wouldn't be decent," he drawled. He then bent his head and pressed a lingering kiss on the patch of skin between her breasts.

"I think it best if I leave," said Blair softly, extricating herself from him and pulling her dress up. She had to get away before she lost what little fragment of decency she still retained despite the fact her tempest-like feelings were calling for her to stay and give herself up to the burning last that was coursing through her body.

Unlike their first encounter in Lysander, Chuck did not advance towards her like a crazed man. Instead, he uttered in a hypnotic voice, "Perhaps that would be for the best, Miss Waldorf. If you stayed, I'd divest you of every item of clothing you're wearing and use my mouth and hands on you until you were begging and moaning for me to enter you."

He was utterly shameless. Yet Blair was not going to allow him to think he could shock her into silence. "And if I had stayed, Mr. Bass, I would have let you."

She was rewarded with an unusual expression of surprise in Chuck's features. She smirked. "Goodnight, Mr. Bass," and left a flabbergasted Chuck.

* * *

The next morning, Blair was buoyant because her dream of a pampered life as Mrs. Archibald was still within her grasp. She nearly floated into Ruby's room.

To her puzzlement, Ruby seemed wan and not her usual cheery self.

"I don't want to get up," Ruby whined. "I feel sick."

Blair, thinking that Ruby was playacting and did not want to do any spelling practice, merely scooped Ruby out of bed and replied, "I'm sure you're fine, Ruby."

"I feel sick," she repeated.

Blair rolled her eyes. "Please, Ruby. Just get dressed."

Ruby pouted. "No."

"I'll not ask again."

Ruby crossed her arms. "No."

Consequently, it took Blair some fifteen minutes to force a dress and stockings onto Ruby, who cried and wailed about a supposed 'sickness'.

At breakfast, Ruby did not eat her toast and merely pushed it around.

"Ruby, I'll not stand for your sulking. Eat your breakfast."

"I'm not hungry," she mumbled.

"Then you won't have any lunch if you won't eat breakfast."

"Fine."

The breakfast door opened and in walked Chuck. "Good morning, Miss Waldorf."

Unaccountably, Blair found herself struggling to prevent a smile. "Good morning, Mr. Bass."

"Sleep well?" he asked, his eyes gleaming.

"Very well, Mr. Bass. I had the most _interesting_ dreams."

The brief flare of lust in his eyes made Blair inhale sharply. "Did you, Miss Waldorf? What a coincidence. I had some very vivid dreams, too."

Something ricocheted between them and Blair could no longer meet his eyes. All she could think of was her gasping and moaning as he touched and kissed her last night.

"How's my daughter?" Chuck asked, his voice a little uneven.

"She won't eat her food," Blair replied, thankful that the conversation was onto a new topic and secretly pleased that Chuck seemed similarly affected by whatever was pulsing between them.

"Ruby, I won't have you disobeying Miss Waldorf. Eat your breakfast."

"No!"

"Ruby. I won't ask you again. _Eat_."

The sheer chilly power that resonated through Chuck's voice strongly reminded Blair of Bart. Even Ruby dared not disobey. She proceeded to sulkily nibble at the toast.

"Good girl," said Chuck as he tweaked Ruby's ear. He turned back to Blair. "I have sent Nathaniel a note asking him to see you this evening at five."

"Thank-you, Mr. Bass."

"I'm sure I can figure out a way for you to repay me."

Blair was left in no doubt as to what method of payment Chuck was seeking as a curious mixture of resentment, loathing and lust filled her.

A tight-lipped Blair nodded. 'Of course," she neutrally answered and silently despised herself for the sensation pulsing through her that had nothing to do with fear.

* * *

Ruby became paler and more listless as the day progressed. Sweat was gathering on Ruby's brow and her skin had taken on an odd grayish pallor. Blair no longer believed Ruby was feigning illness and was now deciding on whether to call a doctor or not.

Blair touched Ruby's forehead that was burning hot, and Blair realised that Ruby had a fever of some sort.

"Miss Blair," Ruby mumbled, "I don't feel well," and then she collapsed onto the floor by her bed.

Blair did not pause for thought. She grabbed up Ruby, placed her on the bed, and then she ran down the corridor and accosted Dan in the hallway. "Call Mr. Bass! Ruby has collapsed and has some sort of fever—also call a doctor!"

Dan stared at her, shocked. "What?"

"Ruby is ill—call a doctor and notify Mr. Bass." Another thought then struck her: "Also, keep Mrs. Bass in the dark—we should prevent any further agitation to her precarious health."

Dan nodded and was about to leave when Blair yanked him back. "And make sure that Vanessa does not tell Mrs. Bass. If she does, there will be hell to pay."

"Of course!" and Dan hurried off without any further response. Blair then rushed to the bathroom, dampened a washcloth and quickly returned to Ruby's room. She rolled off Ruby's stockings and undid the first few buttons of her dress so she could breathe easier. After that, Blair lightly dabbed at Ruby's forehead with the cloth, whispering inane words of comfort even though she was sure that Ruby would not be able to hear anything.

Minutes—hours?—ticked by and Ruby did not appear to be getting better. If anything, her forehead was burning up even more, her breathing was becoming rattled and shaky and her skin was clammy.

The door banged open and Chuck barged in followed by his father.

"What's happening?" Chuck snapped.

"Your daughter has a fever and I'm still waiting for a doctor to arrive."

"Does my wife know?"

'No, Mr. Bass. I told the staff that she's to be kept in the dark to avoid any further complications to her health."

"You did right, Miss Waldorf," said Bart in a tightly restrained voice, laying a hand on his son's shoulder in an attempt to calm him. Chuck shrugged him off and immediately went to his daughter's side grabbed her up in his arms. His eyes were like of a valkyrie as he stroked Ruby's damp hair and cheeks: "My daughter…my daughter…."

Blair's throat tightened and guilt rose up in her. Why did she dismiss Ruby's complaints about illness? If she had heeded them, would Ruby be where she was now?

Her eyes widened in surprise when Bart forcibly detached his son from Ruby. Chuck's face was savage and Blair feared that he would strike Bart. Bart grabbed Chuck's face in an iron grip, his expression equally wild. "Get out of here, my son. If this fever is contagious I could not afford to have you infected too."

"Why?" Chuck hissed. "Afraid that you will lose your best lieutenant in forging the Bass Empire?"

The Bass men appeared to have forgotten that Blair was even in the room. Bart's chest heaved and it was if he was about tumble over a precipice. "No, Charles—you're my son, my only son…I lost your mother…" his voice trailed off.

The depth of emotion that ravaged Bart's voice and face struck Blair. She had ever seen any emotion that was not malignant in him, but to see him like this, rendered helpless by love for his son…

At his father's words, the fire seeped out of Chuck and he nodded resignedly.

"Go to our house in the Hamptons, Charles. Stay there until I give you the all clear. Take Penelope with you."

Something inarticulate flew between the two Bass men and they seemed to come to a silent understanding that Blair was not privy to. Though Chuck was by no means calm—evident by his tense jaw and burning eyes—he had a firm enough control of his faculties to present a diffident face to the general public.

His parting words to Blair and Bart was a hoarse "Look after my daughter".

And then he was gone.


End file.
